Death is Peace, Peace is Death
by Marie Allen
Summary: This is written in Erik's POV during that last with Christine and the night after. A reflective piece, it is the combination of Leroux, Kay, and ALW. Repost. R&R!


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Death is Peace,  
  
Peace is Death  
  
By: Marie Allen  
  
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Author's Notes: Hi everyone! Thanks for stopping by ^_^ This is a mix story, so you'll find references to ALW's, Leroux's, and Kay's versions. Just to let you know. ^_^ Also, I posted this about...a year ago, *way* before they had a "Phantom" section... So I've taken a look at this story I wrote two years ago and made a few changes. If you've read this before, you might see those changes...lol, if you remember it. ^_^ And thank you for the khan mistake, Mary!  
  
Disclaimers: Usual disclaimers are at hand!  
  
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The night was dark. Stars were scarce. The wind tightly clothed pedestrians as the moon hid behind the thick clouds. The rain rapped on the umbrellas of the people, as if clawing to get through the tough material. Thunder boomed over heads as lightning lit up the sky. The patrons walking to the Opera looked anxiously over their shoulders, as if the great werewolf himself were to pounce on them.  
  
Everything seemed to foreshadow the night's occurrences.  
  
Yet, despite the horror and agony, and how much I would want to forget it, I savor every hour, every minute, every second, every moment...  
  
Christine Daae was to make her second debut that night. She was beautiful, marvelous! Every note that soared through her soft and gentle throat made the angels above weep. Every move, every twirl she made was as graceful as a swan. The beauty and pureness of her being shined out brighter than the sun.  
  
However, despite everything, her eyes were filled with sorrow and fear. When I saw this, my heart broke, for I knew that that fear was there because of me, and there was no way I could show her that there was nothing to fear from me when she was in my company. Everything I had done in the past three years was for her, because of her! Yet, she seemed to not want to believe that, and only wanted to believe that I was just a crazy, insane monster.  
  
Maybe I was a monster; a monster that killed for fun and sport. I allowed God to force man's feelings and desires upon me. Perhaps it was just some foolish dream I had that I was a man with a hideous face.  
  
I did have many dreams. Many very simple; to have my music heard; to have my poor, unhappy mother say that she cared for me; to be able to sing with Christine, my love, my Angel of Life...  
  
It was only then that it hit me. I still could! I still could sing with her! There was still some time.  
  
My life's work, my opera, Don Juan Triumphant, was being played that dreadful night. That New Year's Eve I had given the score to the managers and ordered my opera to be shown to all of Paris. It was based on my life; complete with the horrors, the wanting, the lust, the yearnings, and the pains I both saw and had in my fifty-some-on years.  
  
I leapt off the catwalks from my viewing spot from Don Juan from above the stage instead of my normal position in Box five because of a certain 'plan' that was out to get me. There were police everywhere, and they all thought that they could catch me, the Opera Ghost himself! I had chuckled at the amusing thought.  
  
That old, fat fool, Ubaldo Piangi, entered the room that served as Don Juan's bedroom through the door covered by two sheets. I swiftly slipped the only weapon I used, the Punjab lasso.  
  
I had discovered the Punjab lasso in my time in Persia. The khnaum, the shah's mother, had ordered me to amuse her by murder. My first device was the torture chamber, a room with mirrors. Heat waves would bounce between the mirrors, heating up the room quickly and hotter than hell itself. The victims would quickly go insane from the intense torridity. A tree would be placed in the center of the room with the Punjab lasso hanging from a branch. Most of the time their necks found their way in the noose. If not, their minds would explode internally. But now that I think about it, the only times I killed was when I was in Persia, and ordered to do so, or would be killed myself, and in my own self-defense.  
  
I was brought back to reality when the old tenor fell limb in my grasp. I knew not if he was dead or unconscious, nor did I care. I was going to be with Christine, singing, on-stage, in a matter of moments!  
  
I quickly settled the cloak on my narrow shoulders, and covered my face with the hood, patiently waiting for my cue. When it came my heart began to race, pumping more and warm blood throughout my veins.  
  
I began singing and looked to Christine. I felt my heart shatter when I looked in her eyes. There was theat familiar panic and fear again... Desperately, I tried to ignore it, and went on with our duet. Nevertheless, she had tried to show the audience who I was by lifting the hood many times. I turned away each time, except for the last one.  
  
My heart soared as she began to sing. Every time I had heard her voice, be it talking, laughing, or singing, I wanted to rejoice and scoop her up in my arms. But then reality hit me and I knew that that would never happen.  
  
As our song climaxed, we came together. A shock of sadness filled me. What had seemed like forever in the progress, now had seemed like only a few minutes! How could that be?  
  
When we were close, it happened. I was in too much of a trance from her voice to react. Her hands had come up and pushed back the hood. I had thought that the police would ambush me, and I had heard her run, so I turned and started away. Nevertheless, when no one came, and her soft steps turned and walked slowly in my direction. I had asked her if I could be part of her life, and if she would marry me.  
  
We were close now, almost touching. We were so close. As I savored these last moments, savored our time together, she had reached up and torn off the one part of me that meant the most. She tore off my mask, and by doing so, my heart. She screamed out, and fury cruised through me. I seized her arm and started dragging her off stage and through a trap door. How could she? How dare she! This was the second time she had done this to me, and it only continued to hurt me.  
  
But, she was also hurting herself. She was forcing herself to look at my hideous face.  
  
Our trip down to my lair was a quick one. No trances, no seductions with voices, no nothing but our yells. I had thrown her into the gondola, only making her cry harder. I cursed myself silently as I did so, wondering how I could do this and not stop myself.  
  
When we reached my underground home, I thrusted the wedding dress I had had made for her so long ago. I slammed the door to her bedroom, leaving her behind, as I walked out.  
  
I had then sat myself on my throne, and watched the clock slowly tick away. Tick-Toc, Tick-Toc. I watched that long thing that went back and forth under the face of the clock for some time. Tick-Toc, swing, swing, Tick- Toc, swing, swing, ding, ding, ding. When I knew that I couldn't handle much more, I had leapt to my feet, ready to pound on Christine's door, demanding what was taking so long. Before I could, however, her door tentatively opened.  
  
I took in breath when she walked out, her eyes reddened by tears, and wide with fear. But, what she wore! The material clutched to her figure, showing her curves and making them. She was like a white angel! She was the most gorgeous creature I had ever laid eyes on! And I had seen many beautiful things.  
  
I shook all thoughts away and stalked toward her, and seized her arm along the way as I dragged her into the drawing room.  
  
There, I placed the wedding veil on her head. While doing so, she dared asked me if I was to rape her. How dare she say such a thing! Did she really think I was capable of doing such a monstrous thing?  
  
It was only then, for the first time, I told her of my poor, unhappy mother. How the only thing she did for me when I was born besides throwing me across the room was giving me a mask to hide me from the world, and herself as well, and how much she loathed me, and wished me dead.  
  
I surprised and shocked her, there was no doubt about it. Yet, she still had no idea what else I had gone through in my life. The murders I saw in Persia, the pain I went though in the gypsy camp...  
  
Suddenly, there was a noise, and I turned to face that boy, Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. I welcomed him into my home, only to have Christine run into his embrace. The embrace which should that been mine!  
  
I let them have there fun for a few moments, after all, this would be their last embrace! Then, I slipped the Punjab lasso around his scrawny neck. I had laughed at the sight of him trying to free himself.  
  
When I stopped, I turned on Christine, yelling out that the only way that her precious lover could live was by choosing to marry me, or, if she refused, then she would be the murderess of the Opera Garnier with everyone and everything inside.  
  
I had turned my back on her, as she prayed aloud. I could not help but listen. When I heard her ask to show me I'm not alone, I wanted to laugh at her. Of course I was alone, and always would be, no matter what her choice was.  
  
Nevertheless, before I could, she turned me around to face her and...she kissed me! Full on the lips...MY lips. Lips that had never known what a kiss felt like, until now...  
  
My first reaction was to pull away, and I would have, if she hadn't put her hands around my face, pulling me closer to her. Eventually, I let myself surrender in that short, sweet bliss.  
  
It was the most amazing thing that I had ever felt. The shudders that seized my body turned into ripples of amazement. It was the closest thing that I knew that I would ever touch of heaven. She tasted sweeter than the tea in Persia, purer than the oldest wine, softer than a newly born rose under my distorted lips.  
  
When we finally parted, I was in a wonderful daze, but within moments, reality hit me full force. I couldn't keep her here. She belonged in the sun, not the dark, and it was quite apparent that she loved him.  
  
I was once told, in Persia, that you can't destroy the love of others. As desperately as I tried to destroy theirs, the more pathetically I had failed.  
  
I took a candle and burned through the rope that held the young Vicomte's neck, and Christine, once again, ran into his embrace.  
  
I ordered them to go, before the advancing mob got there. They couldn't find them here, or they would think that Christine and that boy were in on the possible death of Piangi.  
  
When they wouldn't go, but only stared at me, I stalked toward them in a threatening manner, chasing them away. It was the most dreadful thing I had ever done in my life.  
  
I picked up Christine's wedding veil, which had been thrown to the ground during our fight. Slowly, I walked toward my throne, now not as demanding looking as before, but before I could get there I fell to my knees. Then, surprisingly, I heard Christine's soft footfalls. I jumped to my feet and walked towards her with hopefulness, only to turn away. I took the ring from her, the one I had given her the first time she came here, and slipped it onto my finger. It was now obvious that what I had taught her meant nothing to her. She didn't want anything to remind her of me.  
  
told her that I loved her, and she ran away with tears. Again, I called out and once more in a moan.  
  
As I watched them leave in the gondola in agony, I knew there was nothing more for me to live for. As I look back on that night, my most precious dreams became reality. I learned the feel of a kiss. Not just any kiss, but one from the most loved person in my life.  
  
had also felt like what a normal man has. Or will. No doubt that no one has ever lost the one he's loved. Be it a wife, sister, brother, father, or whatever, everyone has or will feel like what I felt that cold and dark night. Emptiness...  
  
I stand here now, on the back of the River Seine, looking back on that night. The mist is low, and the rain light. I walk slowly, for age seemed to sneak up behind me. I don't know what I'll do with my life now, nor do I care. Christine is gone from me, and never again will I see her.  
  
Yes, I have discovered now that I am not a monster and that anyone in my place would have done the same, but if they weren't strong enough, they most likely would have killed themselves. No, I am not afraid. Not of anything anymore. Not even my worst fear: Mother.  
  
But, now, I think that it is time for me to leave this world, and move on to another. I've lived though this war long enough. Now it is time for that sweet thing called peace: death.  
  
As I disappear though the mist, I contain no thoughts but one. None of my times in the gypsy camp and in Persia, and none of my mother, nor of Christine. I think of the only thing that has kept me alive, only of music.  
  
Music, my salvation, I surrender myself to you. Take me where I belong. To the ashes of Hell, or the gates of Heaven, take me where you must. You were my only friend and guardian, not darkness. I know that now, that darkness is no one's friend, but everyone's enemy. Even Satan himself doesn't allow it in his domain, only light; fire.  
  
I leave this place for another, like my many journeys previous this, and they all led me into a better and more peaceful place. I know that this is my last journey, and my most serene one.  
  
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Fini  
  
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